


just my type

by IzzieBee



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Season/Series 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24201352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IzzieBee/pseuds/IzzieBee
Summary: She was looking at him, her head tilted, brow furrowed, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. He was about to ask her what was so interesting, maybe tease her just a little bit, with the hope of making her roll her eyes or laugh, when she spoke.“So,” Ellie started, leaning in just a little bit too close to be safe, “I heard that I’m not your type.”OREllie and Nick are NOT each others types (but that might, actually, be kind of great).
Relationships: Ellie Bishop/Nick Torres
Comments: 11
Kudos: 108





	just my type

Nick and Ellie were sitting in a comfortable silence, each sipping on their drinks at a table at the back of there favorite bar. They had just closed a case, one that didn’t gut them or challenge their morals, character, or even their intellect, particularly. They had invited McGee and Gibbs, who, unsurprisingly, both declined. Not that Nick minded. It was nice, decompressing with Ellie, especially when they didn’t have much to recover from.

(It was always nice to be with Ellie Bishop, but that was something he didn’t really want to examine too much.)

Ellie had shrugged off her sweater, and was now in a tank top and jeans, her hair long and wavy down her back, and her cheeks were pink from the heat of the over-crowded bar. 

(It was hard to look at her without touching her, and so he did his best not to look at her too close, or for too long). 

He would already be pretty content, but his night was getting even better, because Ellie had the look about her when she was just getting tipsy. 

He loved it when she scrunched up her nose, and giggled, actually giggled, the few times he had seen her after having one too many (they usually were at this table, tucked in the back, when he got a glimpse of Ellie under the influence). She might say she can’t get drunk, but she could get tipsy, or close too it, anyways.

Also her ex-husband was an asshole, and was never right about anything-

Not that he was biased or anything. 

Ellie was the one who shook him out of his wandering thoughts, when he noticed her noticing him.

She was looking at him, her head tilted, brow furrowed, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. He was about to ask her what was so interesting, maybe tease her just a little bit, with the hope of making her roll her eyes or laugh, when she spoke. 

“So,” Ellie started, leaning in just a little bit too close to be safe, “I heard that I’m not your type.” 

“What?” Nick asked, and Ellie blushed a little deeper (in a way that couldn’t be explained away by the temperature). 

“From my brothers,” Ellie shrugged, “They are horrible gossips.”

“Bishop-” That had been almost a year before when her brothers had intergottated him when they visited for Thanksgiving. He didn’t think she would hear about it, when he said it (not that it mattered, they were friends, just friends). 

But now Ellie was looking at him like he had some explaining to do, and he had no idea what to say. 

“Don’t worry,” Ellie flipped her hair behind her shoulder, her eyes now looking anywhere but at him, her voice artificially light, “I’m just teasing.”

“Are you?” Nick had a feeling he fucked up, big time. 

“Why wouldn’t I be,” Ellie took another sip of her drink, her voice, now dry, “Buddy.” 

Nick winced, yep, he fucked up. 

“It’s not like I’m your type either,” Nick, said quickly, trying to swim out of these very dangerous waters, “I mean I saw a picture of your ex-husband-”

Pain flickered behind her eyes, just for a second. 

“I wasn’t his type either,” Ellie’s voice was quiet, and she didn’t quite meet his eyes as she said it.

God, if ever met this guy- 

“Ellie-” Nick started, but he was interrupted by Ellie. 

“Sorry,” Ellie flashed a quick smile, running her hand through her hair, “Overshare. Just, he had an affair, and she was his type. Tall, well taller than me, beautiful, dark hair, not as umm, odd I guess, as I am. That was his type in college, his old girlfriends-”

“He is an asshole,” Nick interrupted, his voice firm.

Nick could kill this guy, honestly. 

“Yah,” Ellie nodded, resigned, “True. But it’s not like guys are knocking down my door.”

Nick looked at her incredulously. 

Was she serious? Did she really not notice?

Her morose expression was pointing towards ‘serious’. Wow, for a badass, smarter than him detective, she could really be clueless. 

“He didn’t deserve you, Ellie” Nick wanted to reach out, but stopped himself, by gripping his glass a little tighter, “But you have to know half of NCIS is in love with you. Hugo in accounting? He has tried to ask you out three separate times in the bullpen, but he keeps getting interrupted when Gibbs walks in, and he is, rightly, terrified of him-”

“Hugo?” Ellie waived her hands dismissively, “He’s just nice-”

“Delilah has a list of guys who want to be set up on you,” Nick continued, waving his hands, now, “Mcgee says half of DC is vying to be set up with you-”

What Nick didn’t add was how he felt when Mcgee had mentioned this to him while they were waiting for Kasie’s mass-spec results to come through. He ignored the smirk on Kasies face, and brushed the whole thing off, or tried to.

He ran three extra miles that day, trying to work something uncomfortably akin to jealousy out of his system. 

“You’re exaggerating-” Ellie murmured, shaking her head. 

“If I got up right now,” Nick interrupted her, exasperated now, “Half the bar would be fighting for my seat.” 

“Stop it,” She rolled her eyes, she was also smiling again, and Nick could breathe, (he hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath, “You’re just being nice.” 

“That guy,” Nick nodded over to the bar, to a Marine looking guy drinking a beer, “Has been staring at you, and shooting daggers at me since we got here, and he-”

Nick gestured to a cocky looking guy in a leather jacket a few tables away. 

“-Tried to send you a drink, like, twenty minutes ago.”

“Why didn’t I get it?” Ellie raised her eyebrows, like Nick was making this all up. 

Now it was Nick’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“I may have sent it back for you when you were in the bathroom,” Ellie opened her mouth to protest, but Nick continued, “It was ‘sex on the beach’, thought you wouldn’t appreciate that.”

“Gross,” Ellie made a face that shouldn’t have been cute but was, “Thanks actually. What a creep.”

“Feel better yet, Bishop?” Nick asked, and he really did want her too. Te hated when she was sad, or angry, or upset in anyway. He would tease and push her, but he never wanted to be the one to tear her down. 

“That a creep likes me, sure.” Ellie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too. 

“Bishop, keep this all in perspective” Nick said lightly, “After all I’m not your type, am I.”

“I used to like bad boys,” Ellie said, her voice as close to flirting as he had ever heard it, “You know that.” 

Nick raised one eyebrow, but his grin must have been huge. 

“You saying I’m a bad boy?” Nick asked, unable to not flirt back. 

(So they flirted sometimes, sometimes he pushed her for more and more and more-

He wasn’t the good guy, after all). 

“You’re saying you're not?” Ellie tilted her head to the side and regarded him, once more, “Don’t worry, you're right. I don’t do bad boys anymore.”

The emphasis on the word ‘do’ shouldn’t have set him reeling. 

(But it did). 

“You’re really over bad boys, Bishop?” Nick leaned back in his seat, trying to keep the heat in his voice to PG-13 levels (and failing), “Can you ever really get over us.”

“Pretty sure” Ellie leaned in, an unfamiliar glint in her eye, “Good thing I’m not nineteen anymore.”

He could picture it, picking her up from her classes on his first motorcycle. He would have never pursued her though, even at 22. 

(He always had an innate sense for women who he did not deserve). 

“We are all nineteen at heart,” Nick continued, not able to stop himself (he was falling, falling), “Aren't we-” 

“Maybe,” Ellie shrugged, with that smile she only had when she knew she had won, “But it doesn’t matter right, because I’m not your type, right?”

She wasn’t his type. 

Right? 

“Right,” Nick took another sip of his drink, now it was his turn to avoid her gaze, “We’re friends. Partners.” 

Ellie had a look flash across her face, almost disappointment, and he had no idea what to do with that. 

“Right,” Ellie nodded, before taking another swig of her drink, “I should go home, that’s what good girls do on a school night, right?”

He had never called her that, but he supposed that was the undercurrent of this whole conversation. They were ill-suited, far and away from each other in all the ways that mattered. She was good, and he was bad for her. 

(God, he wished she wasn’t going home). 

Ellie threw some money on the table and shrugging on her sweater, that was thrown across the back of her chair. 

“You don’t have to answer that, Torres,” Ellie said before Nick could interrupt, her voice having a trace of a razor edge he had seen during interrogations, “Night.”

“Yah,” Nick said quickly, “Goodnight Bishop.”

Ellie shot him a half smile, before she grabbed her purse and made her way to the door. 

(Half the bar watched, dejectedly, as she walked away, and Nick realized, with a pang, he was one of them). 

Nick didn’t stay much longer than she did, and soon he was home. 

He barely made it through his front door, than he made a beeline to the kitchen where he knew there was a bottle of tequila. He poured himself a drink, and then he pored himself another. 

He couldn’t get that conversation with Bishop out of his head. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. 

When Bishop’s brothers had cornered him, he would have said anything to get them to go away, but he hadn’t been lying either. Nick didn’t think he had a ‘type’ the way other men did which always seemed to essentialize women into stereotypes (the blonde bombshell, the bookish brunette, and the driven career women were always more than how the world perceived them as). He always thought it was reductionist, and unhelpful. 

He liked women, and women, well, they liked him. 

Ellie though, Ellie was not his type. He knew that from the moment he met her. 

Sure she was beautiful in that way that had historically made him stupid, and smarter than him by miles, and funny in an offbeat, nerdy (but if he was honest, incredibly endearing) way. She was the only women he ever met who was a better shot than him, and he didn’t even mind when she gloated about it. She spoke fluent Spanish, and they would drive to crime scenes and talk about everything and anything, without a single word of English spoken. 

He orbited her, without really noticing; standing by her desk as they worked out a details of a case, sitting next to her with papers spread across the floor, illuminated from the light of the vending machine. He felt better, when she was near by. 

She was compassionate to those he didn’t think deserved her compassion. 

Kids loved her immediately, and babies only had to see her before they reached their chubby hands out so they could be in her arms. 

She wasn’t the type of girl you casually dated (Nick was pretty sure ‘casual’ was not in Ellie Bishops vocabulary), which is pretty much all he knew how to do after years of undercover work. 

She was the type of girl you married. 

It didn’t mean he didn’t think about what it would be to bring Ellie home, to wake up with her, to make her gasp and moan, and not just laugh. It just meant that he couldn’t think about her, like that, because he was not ready- 

(Maybe he was ready, Nick realized with a sinking feeling, but he sure as hell didn’t deserve her; he had so much baggage and she didn’t need anymore.) 

Nick had to stop himself, before he spiraled anymore. Ellie didn’t want to be with him, and she was having an insecure moment, after a long day and a couple drinks. 

That’s it. 

It didn’t matter what he wanted, it mattered what she did, and she didn’t want him. 

(Nick was realizing, though, he wanted Ellie in every single way he could have her). 

✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸

When Ellie got home, she felt out of sorts, and she couldn’t put her finger on why. 

She isn’t even sure why she had been thinking about who like her, and ‘types’ at all. 

She was over a year out of her divorce, and she was hardly dating anymore (she went on like two dates with Qasim, but that hadn’t worked out, nor a few dates with a handsome Marine, who was prettier than he was smart).

What did it matter, what Torres thought of her? Why did she mention it at all? Thinking back to it now, it was hard to bite back the mortification. He must of thought she was desperate, or pathetic or something, complaining about her total lack of a romantic life. 

It wasn’t like she would want to date him anyways, she tried to assure herself. Still, she had to admit, at least to herself, that it had been hard to erase the sting when her brother’s dutifully reported Nick’s assessment of her. “Not my type, not at all”, they parroted the words as she sipped hot chocolate with two shakes of cinnamon; she hated having a photographic memory sometimes. . 

So she wasn’t his type, it wasn’t his fault or her fault, it was just the way it was. 

It wasn’t like he was her type; Nick had bad boy written all over him. 

When Ellie went out with bad boys in high school and her first few years in college it wasn’t just because she was looking for a thrill. Sure the boys she chose smirked and flirted and pulled her into a world more dangerous, and more fun then the one of books and calculators. It was exciting, at least at first. 

Ellie, even at 16, knew that she was dating these boys, at least in part, to prove a point. To prove she wasn’t just ‘Scarecrow’, to prove to her family she wasn’t a baby anymore (and with three over protective brothers who were always down for a fight, it was no easy feat). When Ellie had a plan, she was nothing if not diligent; so she dated boys who rolled their eyes at her mom, and didn’t call her back for a week, all to prove that she was fun or sexy or more than what people thought she was. 

It never really worked out how she wanted it to, but she had learned from it. 

She thought she had, anyways. 

She stopped dating bad boys, focused on her grades. Not that Ellie had ever gotten bad ones; she always had a 4.0 without really trying. When she did try suddenly professors were recruiting her for research fellowships, and sliding her business cards of huge corporations and government agencies. 

When she dated, which wasn’t often, she picked clean cut guys who were nice to waiters, and didn’t scare her too much (were they often a little boring, sure, but safe was better than interesting at the end of the day). 

It was easier, she realized, dating guys who wouldn’t hurt you. She felt a little superior, which she cringes looking back now. She had been so sure that she had figured it all out, and that she was never going to be the girl crying on the bathroom floor, again. 

When she saw Jake for the first time, only a few days working at NSA, a few weeks after her 25th birthday she knew he was the guy for her. He was smart, kind and handsome, but it was more than that. 

Jake looked like the kind of guy who would never hurt her. Two dates in she was sure he would never hurt her. 

She was wrong, of course. 

Turns out nice looking guys could make you cry, too, and she didn’t know who she was more angry with Jake or herself (Jake, but it was pretty close). The way he had looked at her, like it was really him who was feeling all that hurt, rejection and betrayal, and not her. 

He wanted to be the good guy, even when he was ripping her heart out. 

She knew that her marriage was over, in that moment. She knew, looking back, that the demise of her marriage was more complicated than that one moment, and that she even had a hand in it, but that was the moment that she knew she could never respect him again, never really trust him. 

He had hurt her and then wanted not just her forgiveness, but her pity. 

With a pang, Ellie realized that Nick, with all his faults, would never, ever do that. 

Yah, Nick was a prototypical ‘bad boy’ with the tight shirts, motorcycles, and the reckless undercover antics. When she met him, she had to ignore the deja vu; he was the kind of guy who would make her feel alive and then break her heart in short succession. As they grew closer, as they truly became partners she almost forgot that first impression, but then he would shoot her a grin and she was nineteen again willing to make bad decision after bad decision if it meant getting to feel this way just a little bit longer. 

But he also wore that sweater vest Abby knit him, and made goofy jokes when she was in a bad mood, one after another until she cracked a smile, only stopping when she laughed a deep belly laugh. 

He had her six, but didn’t pull the chauvinistic bullshit the other guys would. He would stand behind her in integrations and not interrupt her once. He would teach her tricks from his undercover days, and he let her teach him about analytics, talking him through process for hours, even as his eyes glazed over (even Jake wouldn’t do that). 

They would bicker switching from English to Spanish and back, and he taught her some truly terrible curse words for the hell of it. He sent his sister flowers on Mothers Day, and never missed his niece’s piano recitals. 

Maybe there was no such thing as bad boys and good guys, maybe there were people who would hurt her and people who wouldn’t. People who were selfish, and people who put others before themselves. 

Jake might be a ‘good guy’, but he was selfish, and he hurt her in a way that no one else ever had. Nick never put himself first (too a fault), and she was pretty sure Nick would never hurt her. More than that, he was the person she wanted to be around all the time, even when she couldn’t stand him, she wanted to be with him.

She had no idea why she was so sure, or what to do with all of these realizations. 

Well, maybe ‘not sure’ was not completely accurate. 

Afterall, she did call an Uber, and she was outside of Nick’s apartment door, willing herself to ring the door bell. 

He wouldn’t hurt her, not on purpose, not the way Jake did. Maybe she would make a fool of herself and blame it on the alcohol (not that she got drunk) and she would move on. She just felt like he should know. Even if he didn’t feel the same way, or look at her like that. It would be fine, she just needed to-

“Ellie?” Nick opened the door, and looking confused, scanning the hallway behind her, ever the very special agent he was.

“That’s me!” Ellie said, and she cringed at how high pitch it sounded, (she might be a little bit tipsy). 

“I know,” Nick said, looking even more confused, “Come in.”

Ellie walked in, throwing her purse on an armchair, and running her hands through her hair. She had no idea where to start, but she needed to, otherwise she was going to loose her nerve.

“You’re not a bad guy,” Ellie said in one breath. 

“Thanks?” Nick said, cocking his head to the side, and he looked like he was trying not to laugh. 

“You’re not,” Ellie said, before biting her lip; it was now or never, “You should know that. I know you think your damaged, but you are probably my favorite person in the world. And you are my type, even if I’m not yours.” 

“Ellie-” He wasn’t smiling now, and she didn’t know what to make of that. 

“Listen,” She continued, trying to read his expression, that for once, was unreadable, “If you don’t feel the way I do, we can chalk this up to one too many gin and tonics and that’s fine. I have been thinking, that we could be good together. I like you, a lot, and I know it’s against the rules and it’s complicated, but lifes too short-”

“Ellie-” She couldn’t let Nick interrupt her, she only was brave enough to say this once. 

“You won’t hurt me,” Ellie said, “You have got my back and I have yours, and I won’t hurt you either, not on purpose anyways. I just want to be with you.” 

She was out of breath, and didn’t know what else to say, and she just wanted to kiss him (sometime during her speech, and his failed attempts to interrupt her, they ended up inches apart). She could just kiss him, bridge that gap. Because of this wondering it took her more than few seconds to realize Nick hadn’t tried to interrupt her, or say anything, yet. 

“Ellie, can I say something,” Nick said, gesturing between the two of them, “It’s usually how this whole conversation thing goes. You say something, I say something”

“Right,” Ellie winced, and she could feel her cheeks turning pink, “Sorry.” 

“You are not my type-” Nick started and Ellie’s stomach dropped. 

“Ouch, okay,” Ellie was biting back tears, and it wasn’t like she didn’t know better (they had a conversation an hour ago where he told her as much; God, she was an idiot), “Got it, I’m just going to go home and hide see you at work-”

Ellie turned to leave, but Nick grabbed her wrist, but didn’t hold it tight, circling it, really. 

She could break away if she wanted to. 

(She really didn’t want to). 

Ellie looked at Nick, really looked at him, and he was looking at her like she was the most important thing in the entire world and it was not entirely unfamiliar. She had seen hints of it on late night stakeouts, and weekend runs, and when she fell during a pursuit and needed stitches and he had held her hand because she didn’t want any meds-

She wasn’t alone; he felt it too. 

“You're not my type,” Nick said, and his hands were brushing the hair out of her face, the tears from her cheeks; she didn’t know she had been crying, she thought, in a daze, “Because I like casual dating. It’s easier, when you are undercover for years. You don’t have to get attached, you don’t have to get hurt, no one gets hurt. I haven’t been undercover in a year, and I met you. I don’t want to be casual with you. You, Eleanor Bishop, are brilliant, and sexy and I am crazy about you. I don’t want to be casual, with you-”

“You want to be,” Ellie said, her eyebrows scrunched together, and her heart was about to beat out of her chest, “Not casual?”

“Yes,” Nick said, uncharacteristically serious, and she felt something warm bloom in her chest,, “I’m in, if you are.” 

Ellie bit her lip, and nodded and Nicks grin took over his face and God, it was amazing. 

“You are going to kiss me now?” Ellie said, looking up through her eye lashes, “Or what?”

Nick didn’t answer he just closed the distance between them.

She had a dozen first kisses in her life. They had been exciting, or sweet, or fun. Some first kisses she looked back on fondly, some she wished she could forget. 

But this kiss- 

She felt the kiss everywhere, and she melted into it. She was drowning, and she was okay with it, his hands were in her hair, then the back of her neck. Her hands found their way to his hips pulling him closer, and she reveled in the gasp he made when their bodies met. 

When he tried to pull away, she bit his lip to keep him where he was, just a little bit longer. 

Finally, he did pull away, and it took a few moments for them to catch their breath. 

“You, Ellie,” Nick breathed out, looking absolutely delighted, “Are definitely not a good girl.”

She laughed, but it sounded more like a gasp, and she was already leaning in, again. 

“You mad about it?” Ellie murmured, but before she could finish they were crashing together, and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I live on comments and appreciate kudos! 
> 
> This is my first fic for this fandom, so if you enjoyed it, you should check out the rest of my work (especially if you like The Runaways, Legends of Tomorrow, or The Rookie!)


End file.
